Cycles
by Mygayshoes
Summary: Not all Avatars were great, Not every Avatar would be remembered, but not all Avatars had a chance... Snapshots of the lives of the Avatars who came before.
1. Southern Water Tribe: Kala

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Avatar.**

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The woman cradles the small child's hand in her own, as if the warmth from her own hand would warm the hand of the long-cold child. It's a pointless effort, which she knows well, but she can't help but stare at the still form of her daughter and block out the world around her.

It had been a harsh winter. A long winter. Food stocks had dwindled, and hunt had been poor. The lack of food and warm pelts had been felt all round, especially in less endowed camps. Of course they had always been a community, sharing what they had. But in the worst of winters, no one would cast a judgemental eye on anyone who would feed their family before sharing what remained.

Hope had remained in the fact that no winter could last forever, and soon the weather would clear and supply a feast of resources.

They just had to survive the notorious Northern Water Tribe Winters first.

"This is an outrage!" A man shouts inside the council, but is quickly drowned out by more shouts. Oh the anger they displayed. The sheer energy that went into their fury was awe-inspiring; especially since many of them she did not know well.

"_HOW DARE YOU BLAME THIS ON-"_

"_I cannot fathom the DISRESPECT-"_

It grew louder and louder, so loud that the angry words became heat on her skin. While they fought their battle of wills and words, the woman moved to stroke the soft hair of her young daughter, and silently sent a plea that the spirit of her child was safe, wherever it now was.

Whoever it now was.

"_THE BEST RESOURCE WE HAD-"_

"_THE CHILD WAS NO A REOURCE! SHE WAS A CHIL-"_

Not in life, and not in death did her beloved Kala find the peace and respect she so deserved. From the second she was born, hadn't she been moved around, as if anyone but herself had a right to her very being?

The Council grew angrier and angrier, this side of them; Divided, Angry and Hurt had never been seen by her, nor anyone she knew. The unanimous peace they once held was now splintering as quickly as the warming ice outside.

"_DISARM YOUR FORCES!"_

Couldn't they argue somewhere else? The woman bitterly thought. Kala should have been allowed to rest, to find peace; she should have been allowed the right to a proper goodbye. Wasn't any small child allowed that? Only 7 winters old, born in the first, died in the 7th. It was almost strange how the season that had gifted her, had also taken her away once more.

"Come away, Adine," A voice softly spoke in her ear. The woman didn't respond, no more energy existed in her to move her lips again. Not while her eye did nothing but stare at the pale face of her Kala in confusion, "Come away from this place."

The woman, Adine, allowed herself to be moved from the tent, outside into the cold, where already the sun was starting to streak through the clouds.

The sun.

It had been so long...

"I'm so sorry," The voice whispered in her ear, "To lose a child is unbearable. To lose an Avatar so young brings shame..."

The woman could barely nod, as the arm around her back grew tighter, "Not to you, oh you fought so long. To _THEM_."

The voice made perfect sense. The shame would not be cast on them, but the ones who had allowed her to die from cold and starvation. Oh her kin had tried- the old and the strong had given her their food, tried to protect her from the cold, but it hadn't been enough. The shame would be cast on those who had denied Kala help and aid. Those who came from the endowed families, who had left in a time of need, and failed their avatar.

"There is talk of a divide," The voice whispered, as they arrived at her personal tent, "There is talk of those who offered aid to leave their shamed kin behind, to found a Southern Water Tribe..."

South.

The winters would be harsh down there, and it was unknown what they would find.

But the south...

"And they who loved Kala will sing her name in their own," The voice promised, "Her name will never be forgotten by those who follow."

The woman lifted her head, and furrowed her brow as the thought became a reality in her mind. The south. Somewhere new, close to the Earth Kingdom that now would claim her Daughter's Spirit as their own.

She would go.

The woman turned around, to thank the voice who had helped her so, nothing but the air remained.

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**Note: Kala is pronounced K-uh-la (Starting the tradition of those from the Southern Waer tribe have at least a single K and an 'uh' in their name.)**

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	2. Imperfect Fire: Kizu

_One day, a child was born, so said the tale. A child was born that looked like no other._

The whispers followed him everywhere. No matter where he would go, they followed him with no mercy. His very face brought them on, the very look at his twisted face and the whispers started once more. People spoke as if their harsh jarring word would fill in the gap brought on by his missing features.

_When he was born, so they said, his mother had taken one look at his twisted face and screamed._

It had only been the intervention of the attending midwife that had saved him, an air bender, bound by her own code of non-violence that had stopped his father from using his bending to burn his disfigured offspring beyond a point of recognition. To hide the shame of such a disgusting and horrific being that looked like no human.

_When he was born, so they said, his father turned his lip up in disgust and turned away in shame._

Sometimes, the stares and laughs would follow him into his very mind, taunting him and goading him. They never stopped, never stopped pointing out how selfish he was to live, in such a twisted form, when another could have a chance at life.

The Avatar was supposed to be a great leader, a bringer of peace, a keeper of the balance. Not to be pitied and jeered at, never to be nothing more than a captive unable clown.

Did they never see his piercing brown eyes, or his strong shoulders, or the way mathematics and words came so easily to him? Did they never see the scrolls upon scrolls that he devoured each day, or the way he never turned away anyone willing to learn?

_What a waste_, the people would only sigh, _to have an avatar with no hands to bend._

Fire danced from the stumps of his arms, though not like the art that other benders produced. Air only moved when his lungs did, and water moved only when he desired water so much. Earth bending never came to him- he lacked the ability to connect with the earth.

But a hole from his lip to his nose kept the children entertained, as he struggled to drink the water that sustained him. Their laughs reminding him that the struggle to stay alive was such a performance and source of such pleasure from them.

_What a waste,_ the children would laugh,_ what_ _a waste of space that Kizu the broken was._

Even their words, as young and foolish as they were, stung at the heart that thumped in his chest. You couldn't ignore the words of all forever, though his hidden house by the sea tried to hide him away.

_What a waste, _he found himself admitting over time as their whispers poisoned his mind_, that the Fire Avatar Kizu, had only stumps to hobble on._

_What a waste,_ Kizu imagined the avatars before him sorrowfully say, as he stood on the cliffs near his house, watching the horizon for the lands that birthed better avatars than he, _what a waste that Kizu did exist, what a waste._

It had only been because of a kind hearted air bender than he had been allowed to live at all; perhaps her kindness had been a curse. Maybe the next Avatar of Air would fix this wrong, and restore the balance his birth had destroyed.

And as he threw himself off those cliffs, as the whispers grew too loud and choked his own voice, he did agree with the voices that had plagued him his entire life.

_What a waste._

**Note: The idea of a disabled Avatar is interesting; it's quite clear that an Avatar is held to an even higher standard of physicality and perfection than benders, or non-benders. Can you imagine the hell an "imperfect" Avatar would go through, because of this?**

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	3. Unnamed Mourning: Anuhya

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world, nor the idea of an Avatar. I do however, retain intellectual property of it's interpretations and original characters.**

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The Avatar Cycle; Earth, Fire, Air, Water. Forever moving, and yet forever staying the same. A constant balance between the four elements that displayed itself in such a frightening perfect way. Everyone marked by the Cycle, each new reincarnation, stood so proud and indomitable. Their names and faces, forever marked in scrolls and books, and in the way they restored balance and brought peace to the world.

"Anuhya," Her name had been given to her when she was just a child, when she had created dancing puppets from her fingertips and let joy explode from her face, "You've been meditating for hours, come and eat with us, Avatar."

"I cannot." She replied, shortly, opening her eyes to stare at the Air-bender whose tutelage she had been given.

"May I ask why?" The Air-bending Master questioned, softly, "Why is it that you spend so long hidden inside, in such silence? What weighs on your mind so heavy?"

Anuhya let her head dip, as she relaxed and stood to face her Master respectfully, "I have been taught much of those who came before- Of Avatar Yajna, and Kapila, Narada and Kalki. I know the cycle, and names of everyone who came before I, and yet..."

A silence stretched out, as the Avatar known as Anuhya stood, and turned to face the window with a sigh, "And yet..."

"Your previous incarnation." The Air bender acknowledged, with a frown hidden under his dark beard. His words spoke of a topic that she had long since wondered; a strange cloud that none wished to discuss, lest it upset her.

"What was their name? Did they have one?" Anuhya pressed on, "Were they as pretty as the northern lights? As strong as a sky bison? Did they smile at the sound of rain, frown at the changing seasons?"

"We do not know."

Anuhya sighed, running a hand through her dark black hair, "What happened to me, Anil? The world held its breath as an Avatar of Fire was to be born, and yet only five years after the death of an Earth Avatar, a child of the Air rose up with a smile to be named the true successor. The cycle has never skipped; the cycle has never been broken. We must then accept that my past life was cut short, much too short..."

"When you were brought to us, and we discovered who you were, the Fire Lord sent a dozen white roses to be placed near your cradle." Anil softly replied, folding his hands as the Avatar's eyes flashed in confusion, "and, he has sent them every year since to mark you birth."

"White is the colour of mourning." Anuhya replied, hesitantly. Her eyes moved towards a clear vase on her window still; a single white rose was nourished by clear sweet water. A white rose was always in her room, for as long as she could remember they had been her companion.

"The Fire Nation has been in mourning since you were born." Anil's footsteps herald his movements, a second later he plucked the flower from its vase, and cradled it in his hands, "To lose an Avatar brings a shame to them; their honour has been marred. They mourn for the child who could have been."

"But why send roses to me?"

Anil's mouth twitched into a smile; a smile that knew all too well the sound of a rhetorical question.

"They want forgiveness." Anuhya questioned tentatively, closing her blue eyes, "How am I to know how to forgive, if I do not know what has happened?"

"Do you know nothing?" Anil questioned, curiously.

"No," She replied with a flat tone, "That is what scares me."

The silence chocked the room, until the air grew thick and heavy. Neither attempted to break it, until Anil once again placed the white rose in its vase and grimly looked out over the water alongside her.

"Will you forgive them?"

"It's not my forgiveness they need."

"Then what will you say?"

Anuhya turned, facing the door where the scent of jasmine rice had come from, arousing her stomach to forget the thoughts of her past.

"Nothing," She replied, clenching her jaw, "Let them send their roses, and let them mourn in peace. For I will not forgive, for the death of a babe, when I know not what I am forgiving."

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**Note: An Avatar who never had a chance, one who is forever unnamed, yet never forgotten.**

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	4. Power and Rage: Baojia

**Disclaimer: As per previous chapters.**

**Trigger Warning for abuse, suicide and domestic violence.**

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He is three years old when his father left for war. Years later, he can't exactly remember which war, which army, which general, which battlefield, Why. Someone tells him it is the remnant of a war caused by an Avatar of the water, but it's not like any of that matters anyway. He was four years old when his father didn't come back.

"Your father is going to be the death of you." He remembers his mother laughing, as his father grinned and dressed him up in his soldiers clothes, telling him that he's make a decent soldier.

He is five years when he first bends the earth under his feet with a whoop of joy.

"Your father is going to be the death of you." His mother had sighed, watching as her only earth-bending child precariously moved the earth with the laugh of someone whose new-found power has gone to their head. The sense of life under his small feet suddenly made sense, and the language of the earth flew through his limbs as he coaxed the dirt and stone into a safe shell- a little house of his own- and hid away for hours.

He is six years old when his father doesn't return, but someone who wears his father's face does. The earth rumbles in warning and promises to be there for the difficult times to come. It is his father that forces the earth to teach him of strength, of immobility, of protection and of unconditional love.

Because it wouldn't be his scarred, hollow father that taught him of such things.

"Your father will be the death of you." His mother had weakly muttered, pushing aside her son who had stood in front of her so protectively.

He is seven years old when his father kicks him from his home late at night, and fire dances from his fingertips, as he cooks the first warm meal he has had in such a long time.

The flickering flames scare him, but he smiles so wide, because now, one day when his mother and sisters were strong enough to leave, he can always make sure they have warmth in their belly. They had always taken care of him when he was a child, with a warm embrace and words- now it was his turn to use that warmth to help them.

"Your father will be the death of you." A small smile graces the lips of his mother as he comes back home with warm soup for them to eat.

He is nine years old when the man who was once his father kicks his stomach, and forces him to gasp in desperation for air. It is then that the air comes rushing towards him, and wraps itself around his body like a protective blanket. The air suddenly rushes into him, and whispers the secrets of the world into his ear, telling him all about their travels, in and out of the lungs of the living. He files this away, and uses it to makes his father breathless when he gets angry.

He is ten years old by the time the bruises heal and he first learns of the name Avatar. He likes the way it dances on the tip of his tongue. Avatar Baojia. Baojia the Avatar. He learns about those who were great before him, and though he doesn't understand how people so strong could ever be as weak and powerless as he, he swears on his life that he will protect all that need to be protected. Never again will men like his father be allowed to hurt those smaller than he.

He tells this to his sister, and she look at him with her huge green eyes and cries, though he doesn't understand why.

Wasn't she happy that he would always protect her?

He is eleven years old when but a broken bone in his leg heals without setting, sending sharp pain with every step. His father uses earth-bending then, to express how angry he is at his crippled son, but his sister step in and screams until he can flee. The next day his father marries her off. Her stoic expressions and utter acceptance makes him angry, but she tells him that its better this way, and at least she were to be wed to good men. At least she was marrying a friend she could love.

Before she leaves, she look at him with her huge eyes, and pleads to the spirits that he'll be safe, because he deserves so much better. Her pleading words for only he doesn't make sense, and clouds his heads for years to come.

He is twelve years old when his mother doesn't wake up one morning. His eyes take in the dewy blood on her lips, and the dagger she had thrust through her ribs, with such resolve and he finally notices the bruises covering her skin.

"Your father will be the death of you." He can hear her urgently whisper in his ear, and this time he finally listens.

He is twelve years old when he leaves, and doesn't look back.

Baojia the Avatar is fifteen by the time he arrives in the Fire Nation, and he finds a fire-bending master who takes him under her tutelage. She frowns at him when he shies away from any touch, but teaches him well. Only a few months pass before she sends for a teacher from the Air Nomads, who escorts him to their temples.

"It's strange," She says, moments before he leaves, with narrowed eyes, "That you are so quiet and docile. It is the opposite element that your personality has difficulty with. What has created such anger in your veins?"

The anger that he vents through fire-bending suddenly has no place to go, in the midst of the peaceful lands of the nomads.

"Your father will be the death of you." A ghostly whisper fills his ears, when he explodes and burns down a tree.

Baojia the Avatar is seventeen when his Air bending teacher walks up to him, and sorrowfully tells him the news.

"I have heard from the Earth Kingdom," He started in a low voice, "That your sister- Xiaoqin has passed away."

Only a few hours later the Air Nomad and he had started their journey to the place here his sister would rest.

Baojia the Avatar is eighteen when he arrives in the village that was once his own; the people finally recognizing him for who he truly was.

"Your father will be the death of you." They mutter to him in warning, telling him not to stay very long.

He is eighteen when he kneels at his sister's grave, and learns that the marriage that should have been fell through, and she had been made to stay with father. They tell him of the way she threw herself off the cliffs into the ocean, with her grotesque broken self dripping ruby blood behind her.

The words make his Air-bending Master grow ashy and horrified, though his pupil accepts them without questioning the words he had received. A hand rests on his shoulders, and Baojia jumps in such terror before he recognized the familiar peaceful hand it belongs to.

He is eighteen when he walks down the middle of the village, with his father in all but blood by his side. Only eighteen when a rage-filled snarl echoes behind him, from a man who wears the aged skin of his father.

Before he can think, the sorrow of his sister's death, and the smell of drink on the breathe of the old man enrages him, until stones float from the ground and fire burns in his hands.

"Your father will be the death of you." His father calls out mockingly, as he moves towards his son, finally intending to finish the job he had started so long ago.

The rage flows through his veins and relights the pain in his twisted limb, and before he can call his air training into focus, the rage of fire and earth calls upon a state that should never be reached by blood thirst.

And there's nothing anyone else can do.

"Your father will be the death of you." Is the last voice that he hears, before his own voice corrects it.

"No, I will be the death of my father."

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**Can you imagine the power and privilege that bending can give?**

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	5. Lost Songs: Shey pön

**Disclaimer: As per previous chapters.**

**A/N: Okay, so I broke my promise. I hope this Futurefic! is to your liking.**

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"Have you ever wondered what kind of life you would lead, in a world where everyone knew your name?" The man spoke to her with a thoughtful tone, "By all means, you should be known by every man, woman and child of this land."

"Why?" The girl said, tuning the strings of her pipa thoughtlessly.

"Because the avatar is always known," He replied, stretching out his limbs, "In every age, the avatar has been an active worker for balance, peace and serenity; A fighter, someone who travels the lands and demands justice."

"There's more than one way to achieve peace, and justice." The girl laughed, strumming the pipa with her long fingers.

"Music isn't the same thing."

"Why not?" She paused to watch him with narrowed eyes, "I sing songs of peace and kindness, I sing of restoring the balance, and I'm just as well known as any Avatar."

"You ARE an Avatar."

"I am, and I am not." She mused, pulling her black hair from her face, "I'm an Avatar of the Air- yet an entire cycle ago, I was an Avatar named Aang. I can't compete against that. I won't compete against that. The world has changed too much for me to simply be an Avatar. But I will be a peace-bringer, through my own ways."

"Music?" The man supplied, with a frown, "How can music bring peace?"

"How can it not?" The girl smiled, then paused as a few people appeared from the corner or her eyes, "Music inspires people. It inspires rage and sorrow, kindness and greed. And it inspires change."

A small group, friends perhaps- with clothing that gave the impression of a few spare coins in their pockets.

"Change?" The man laughed, "No such thing can happen in the world we've built. You can't inspire change in people who have no concept of such. Besides, change can be dangerous, for the people who try..."

"Isn't pain worth it, for a better world?"

"I know the words of what you're about to sing," The man muttered, "You want a revolution. Republic City, once more in a blaze of upheaval and revolt."

"Except this time, it'll be changed for the better," The girl spoke, "The glory that the Republic city was suppose to be is now tarnished and bitter-"

"Don't say that." The man urgently replied, "You know what happens when..."

The girl pursed her lips, as she straightened her shoulders as she posed herself to start strumming the strings of her pipa. "This is exactly what I mean. Too afraid to speak lest our criticisms of our system lead us to a shallow grave..."

The man beside her knew the sign, and quickly moved his flute to his lips, to start the slow melody she had taught him, only days before.

_"Perhaps I'll bid farewell and never to return, can you comprehend?" _Her entire demeanour changed as she started singing, now she excreted an air of 'look at me'- an inviting picture to anyone who would walk past.

Her voice climbed to a higher and higher note as she sung the words in her soft sweet voice, strumming her pipa slowly_, "Do you understand?"_

The small group paused to listen to her sing; she smiled as yet more people came closer, down the winding path of the park.

She had timed the Lunch Hour well.

As soon as the time came, the workers would be walking to the grass of the spacious park; a haven away from the hustle and bustle of the city beyond the walls. In other lands, she had sung in greater halls, though for now, she was content to sing, with the numbers who had paused in their lives to listen to her words, penned from her own hand and delivered with a sentiment that sent a shiver down the spine of anyone caught under her lyrical spell.

Just as expected, a few coins were tossed into her hat; from the small group she had first seen. Smiling in return, her fingers almost lost a hold of a string, but she was quickly back on track before anyone noticed her stumble.

The magic however, could not last forever.

"Miss," A loud voice interrupted her song, breaking the spell unforgivably, "We've had a few noise complaints; you need a busking license to busk here."

The crowd who had gathered grumbled, unnerved and irritated over the sudden interruption by the metal-bending police. Still, they didn't move and kept their ground as the singer stared back defiantly.

"I've accepted no coins, nor did I sing for them. Do you have any concept of singing just for the beauty of it?" It wasn't exactly a lie, nor a line delivered with any hint of snark, and yet the sting of her words hit the officer enough to make his jaw flex. Anger came to easily to him, as he glanced to his even muscular partner, who smirked in return.

"And yet, you have a hat in front of you, filled with coins." He countered, walking forwards with the air of confident man, a man who easily towered over her small stature, and who saw no threat in her petite frame.

"That's mine," A man from the grass shuffled then stood; surprising the girl who looked at the stranger with a smile, "I was showing a few coin tricks before you arrived."

"There's quite a few coins." The officer's eyes narrowed.

"I have quite a few tricks."

"Then you wouldn't mind us to stay and listen to you?" The officer called her bluff, letting a smile cross his face, "After all, you have such a melodic voice, Miss-"

"Shey pön." The girl retorted, pushing her short black hair from her eyes, "By all means, as long as you are silent."

The officers made a show of leaning against a tree, as the girl watched them critically. It wasn't until they had settled that her fingers once again found their strings, intent on delivering a perfect song.

_"Perhaps I'll bid farewell and never to return, can you comprehend? Do you understand?"_ Her voice climbed higher as she once again recited the sweet lullaby, her blue eyes hidden behind her eyelids, _"Perhaps I will fall and never to rise again."_

Shey pön's eyes met the officer's as her lip curled and her voice strengthened _"Will you be forever waiting?"_

_"If it's to be so, grieve not, the flag of our Republic has our blood-stained glory."_ The man with the flute paused momentarily to sing the words with her; a melodic union of both feminine and masculine tones_, " If it's to be so, grieve not, the flag of our Republic has our blood-stained glory."_

The officer twitched, standing up straight with a look of surprise, yet still Sheypon sung.

_"Perhaps my eyes will shut and never open again, will you understand my silent emotions? Perhaps I will sleep forever, never able to wake up. Will you believe that I have been transformed into mountains?"_

Her voice dropped to a near silent whisper that sent a chill down the spines of those who listened," _If it's to be so, grieve not, the soil of our Republic contains the love we have given. If it's to be so, grieve not, the soil of our Republic contains the love we have given. If it's to be so, grieve not, the flag of our Republic has our blood-stained glory._

_If it's to be so, grieve not, the flag of our Republic has our blood-stained glory. Blood-stained Glory."_

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_The song used in this chapter is named, Bloodstained Glory, and is a Chinese Folk song written in 1987. It was originally used to commemorate those who died during the Sino-Vietnamese War but became popular for its commemoration of those who died during the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989.  
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_I received a message, asking if the names I used for each avatar had a purpose;_

_**Chapter 5: Shey pön (gzhas-dpon)** - "song master", a teacher of a particular song style, who is recognized as an experiened and competent singer. (Tibetan origin.)_

_**Chapter 4: Baojia** - 1."Protects the family" (Name of Chinese Origin) 2. "The Baojia System" - A system of law enforcement and civil control._

___**Chapter 3: Anuhya**- "Something unexpected" (Name of Oriya origin.)_

___**Chapter 2: Kizu**- "A flaw of any kind" (Japanese Origin.)_

___**Chapter 1: Kala**- "one sixteenth of the moon". (A lunar digit.)_

**_Would you like this information to be placed at the bottom of each chapter?_**

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	6. White Roses: Tatsu no otoshigo

**Disclaimer: As per previous chapters.**

**A/N: **** Avatar1294: Kala was reincarnated into Baojia, a few cycles later Kizu was born, and then another cycle later Anuhya. And dozens of cycle later, Aang, then Korra, and then 2 more Avatars from Fire and Earth, Shey pön is born. The avatar in this chapter was born before Anuhya.**

**Tw: death, murder, infanticide.**

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The woman glanced at the child from across the room, unwilling to go near it, lest her heart crumble under the weight of the feelings that a mother ought to have for their child.

The midwife who had helped her through the birth had left, for just a second to fetch some water to sooth the new mother who had pleaded exhaustion. But when the midwife had left, the room was suddenly too quiet, and the only minutes old child demanded to be looked at. The unwanted child. The child who told of her sins and the things best left untold.

The child that must be killed to protect them all.

"Kaido," The midwife smiled sweetly as she returned so quickly; a jug of fresh water in her hands, "Do you have the strength to drink?"

The woman frowned, lying on her side as she swept the brown hair from her face, back up into the elaborate bun she had worn since she had been a child. Her blue eyes, half hidden by her lids and lashes must have given away her thoughts, for the old woman bristled and walked closer, placing the jug down on a table and frowned.

"If you don't drink, then your milk will dry," The midwife spoke softly, but calmly, "The babe will need to be fed soon. Drink."

The midwife uttered the last word as she held out a cup filled with water; urging the young mother to take te cup with her hands, and fill her dry mouth. The woman ignored the cup held to her, and rolled in her bed, until she could no longer see the child in her sight.

"Take it away."

The midwife paused, hesitating as she tried to find her voice.

"You don't mean that Kaiko- just look at him; he's such a strong, perfect boy." The midwife coaxed gently, walking around the bed to face the woman, "Would you like to hold him?"

"TAKE IT AWAY!" The woman snapped again; her words were clipped by a sharp sob that sent the midwife reeling, "TAKE IT AWAY!"

"Miss Kaiko-" The midwife stopped, as the sound of a gentle knock was audible at the door; the midwife sighed as she caught sight of an imposing, adorned man, "Firelord Ryuu, it is an honour to have you here."

"How is Kaiko?" His dark eyes glued on the slender figure of the woman with a strange glance, limply he handed a single white rose towards the midwife, who brightened at this display of affection and colour. The midwife had certainly heard that this was the babe's father, though she hadn't expected the rather informal use of the woman's name.

The Firelord's secret loves were rumored of, but never had she suspected that she'd meet one, or even be the one who would help birth a child of royalty. Even if the child would never have a claim to the throne.

The rose was quickly placed in the jug she had previously drawn water from, through the cup in her hands trembled at the sight of the powerful man, filling up the room with his overbearing presence.

Still, she composed her features- being someone used to powerful men over seeing the birth of their young, and let the words free from her mouth.

"She is recovering," The midwife carefully worded; watching the man's face, as his features relaxed into a relieved and relaxed mask, "But...I worry for her. The nature of motherhood does not come freely to her troubled mind."

The dark haired man stood primly, his eyes never moving and his face contorted into an unnatural way of neutrality.  
"How is the babe?" The Firelord wasted no time, his eyes looked around until they focused on the small bundle of cloth, and the pink face that peering back at him.

"The boy is well."  
"A boy..." Firelord Ryuu exhaled gently; an unusual shade crossed his sharp features. The look of a new father, utterly confused as to the way the world had just shifted around him, yet a sharpness hit his jaw, and he clenched unflinchingly.

"May I ask what the boy is to be called?"

"Tatsu-no-otoshigo!" The woman howled from behind her blankets, "Take it away!"

"Miss Kaido, Please just take a drink" The midwife stepped forward, holding it close to the woman's face, "Please-"  
The woman let out a scream out fury, jerking her arm in the same instance as the water jeered up from the cup and went flying through the air, until it hit the stone wall with a sharp noise. The woman sobbed, as the midwife grew pale.

"Please leave the room," The Firelord grew grave; his dark eyes found the soul of the midwife and commanded her will, "Leave this place and tell no one of what has happened here. The child died in birth."

The midwife's eyes flashed towards the peaceful boy in horror; his life had only just began less than an hour ago, and yet...

"Let me take him with me," She pleaded, "I'll take him far away and tell him he is my son. You need never see him again!"

"The child died in childbirth." The Firelord repeated, with an edge to his voice that she didn't dare think of.

Mutely nodding, the midwife cast one more glance towards the peaceful child, and followed the directions of the new father and Lord of the Fire Nation. As she left, her mouth moved to pray for the child, and the spirits who would care for him, for the deed that was to be done.

"I cannot leave my palace." The Firelord quietly muttered. He turned, and moved towards the cradle, where he picked up the child roughly and left the child on the bed beside the new mother. His dark eyes narrowed in on the woman, who mutely nodded.

A broken woman. A woman with nothing else to lose.

A woman who couldn't risk anything else.

"I'll take my leave." He turned and was out the door before she could find her voice to cry out.

The child had the same black hair as he; the same palor, and the same features. Even if she were to return to her home, the water tribe would certainly know that he wasn't just of water tribe stock. And if he bent the fire, then the truth could have her killed.

Sobbing the woman sat; shakily raising her hand to collect the splattered water that sat on the floor in splattered droplets. The water rose, and swirled around her comfortingly.  
If the element of his father, of fire had claimed his life, then the element of his mother, of water would take him back.

But as the water followed her command, and filled his tiny lungs, the mother swore she could see a soft glow from under his lidded eyes.

But just as quickly as it had come, it vanished once again.

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The idea was spawned from a simple concept; _"Inter-bending-al"_ relationships were pretty much unheard of pre-Republic city. I think the societal "rules" would have crushed any, especially for an unmarried water-tribe lover of a Firelord.

Second; this avatar did not die in the avatar state- instead, the child instinctively tried to save its life, but because it was so young, and so weak, no energy existed to let this happen.

Thus why the Firelord sends white roses to Anuhya every birthday.

**Kaiko means "sea", while Firelord "Ryuu" means Dragon.**

**"Tatsu-no-otoshigo"** Literally means "illegitimate child of a dragon", but is also the word for "Sea Horse".

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	7. Un wanted: Nakusa Eashita

**Disclaimer: As per previous chapters.**

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The tall woman moved with a rigid power in her legs that not even the most oblivious could ignore; she moved with a highly trained core strength that could have only come from years of forms and practise. Her wide jade eyes were deep-set in her face, giving her an expression that she was always suspicious of what was around her, but the smile of her face counter-acted that assessment and spoke of only love.

"Thank you for meeting me here, Avatar Eashita," The smaller dainty woman acknowledged, holding her book and calligraphy set in her arms, "It is an honour to be chosen to record the life of such a famed and beloved Avatar."

"I am honoured that the Air Nomads would send such a respected scribe to record my words."

"You flatter me." The woman replied, stepping in as the Avatar opened a door to the garden, to allow her to walk first, "I am aware that you are needed soon, I will make this as quick as I may."

The Avatar slowly took a seat, while the scribe opened her kit and set her calligraphy brushes and inks out on the low table provided.

"Tell me of your name, Eashita is not of Fire Nation origin, is it?" The scribe commanded, relaxing into a rhythm, as her brush danced over the page.

"I do not know the name gifted to me at birth, but I was called Nakusa before I had even understood the significance that a name held," The tall muscular woman spoke softly, " If I concentrate long enough, I can still remember fragments of sounds of my birth name but I can never remember it long enough to repeat it."

"Why did they name you such an ugly way?" The smaller woman questioned, setting her calligraphy brush back into the pot of jet black ink, "Surely, they would have more respect for their Avatar-"

"My father didn't wish for a female child," The woman frowned, "I did not have a true name until I met she whom I love."

"Tell me of your great love," The smaller woman started again, "Tell me of the beautiful Airbender who stole your heart."

"How could she steal what was already hers from the start?" The other replied in amusement, but conceded with an infatuated smile, "I met her when I was thrown from my home, when I was wanted no longer by the Fire Lord, I travelled to the Eastern Air Temple, seeking a warm meal and a bed, and there she was: her eyes sparkled like the sky and she danced -oh how she danced! They called her the sky-dancer. I called her my love."

"She was not an Air-bender." The scribe replied, in confusion, "And yet they called her a sky dancer?"

"No, She was THE Skydancer," The Avatar replied, her smile never faltering, "Chie was not an airbender, but she was bright and she raised air bison just as protectively as their own mothers; she created a harness and ropes and she danced in the air in such a way that even Air-benders could never mimic."

"You loved her even though she could never bend?"

The Avatar sharply looked at the scribe, her smile falling quickly, "'Even though'? The tone you take about non-benders is not conductive for your work. I would have loved her the same, had she been a firebender, or a earth bender, or waterbender. I would always love she who completes me."

"It was she who gave you your name?"

The Avatar smiled brightly, sweeping her long hair over her shoulder with a wishful smile, "I was _unwanted_. At first, she was always so sad, and so quiet. She believed herself to be less, for she was the only non-bender in the entire Temple, she believed she was unwanted- it was a feeling that I knew too well. But she also believed that we could never be equal, for I held too much more than she."

"But you never gave up?" The scribe twitched with the enthralling promise of an epic story of love, "How did you pursue her? Did you send her lavish gifts? Shower her in affections? Sing her songs of epic loves and whisper promises of something more?"

"I did no such thing," The Avatar laughed, "I respected her, and we became friends."

The scribe looked up with narrowed, accusing eyes, "And yet you were married over twenty years ago, with several babes of your own."

"I helped her learn that non-benders are worth just as much as benders, but I began to fear that like the Nation I had come from, I was wearing out my welcome- I knew as well as any that an Avatar would never be removed from the Temples of the Airbenders. I told Chie, I told her that perhaps my time as an Avatar was over- how could I help if even the Nation of my birth discarded me?," The Avatar bust into laughter, with a sneaky undertone that spoke of her true emotion, "They still see it as a slight that I rejected every suitor they threw at me, and married a non-bender from the Air nomads. Or perhaps the slight is that I preferred _'my own kind'_."

A pause permeated all parts of the garden, until even the growing jasmine was still.

"I thought I would have to leave," The Avatar hesitated, finding the words that struggled to come, "Perhaps to the Earth Kingdom, to find someone who would share their mastery over the Earth with I. Perhaps to the Northern Water Tribe, where I could spend my days as a Teacher of crafts once forgotten."

"But you didn't leave," The scribe insisted, flicking back to previous pages of her book- already marred with the words that they had previously discussed. The words that would forever be stored in the Air Temples to remember her legacy.

"My Chie woke me from my studies one afternoon, and dragged me up to the highest mountain," The Avatar recounted, "In the middle of Winter, icy dew clinging to the fur of even the warmest Sky Bison, she convinced me to go with her, and she danced."

"Danced?"

"She danced higher than she had ever danced before," The Avatar wistfully replied, "She danced amongst the clouds with the sky bison who were her family, and slowly she carved her heart into the clouds. My own eyes watched as the untamed clouds slowly were coaxed into words, and those words read, _'My love, you are never unwanted.'_"

The Avatar paused; noting that it had been several minutes since the scribe had written anything in her book, this was the final time that the scribe would ask her to talk, the last pages of her book were already half filled.

"From that moment, I was _wanted_. I just looked at her, and I couldn't understand, until the sky bison's had returned her to me, she wrapped her arms around me, and she said_ 'You are wanted.'_"

"You are wanted?"

"And I have been, everyday since."

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_I thought you may all appreciate a happy love-story, to act as a buffer for the stories to come..._

**Nakusa: Unwanted**

**Eashita: Wanted**

**Chie: Blessed with wisdom**

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	8. Bao Bei: Worthlessness

**Disclaimer: ****I hold no rights to any of the worlds depicted within, only the content of my own dreams.**

******Arranged marriages haven't been explored as of yet, but it begs the question; how prized would an Avatar be as a wife?**

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The girl trembled in the room, but didn't dare let her features let a single tear fall. She couldn't afford a single sob from her lungs, nor a single frown.

From birth she had been told that she was an Avatar; a creature of great peace and justice, and what better justice than peace between the two biggest Earth Nation families? In another life, she supposed that she had felt the soil beneath her feet, fire at her fingertips, air along her back and water across her face.

But not in this life.

Her black, glazed hair in a high bun, her face dusted with rice powder, eyebrows coaxed into very pointed, eye-catching dots and her tiny lips had been stained with rouge into a flower-shape. The robe she wore; the colors of azure, ochre and carmine in perfect harmony. Her décolletages and their shawls are as thin as a cicada's wings, which let her skin show faintly.  
She was primed into a Queen, as she would be in only a few minutes. She took a breathe to still herself, and inhaled the smell of spices- rose and osmanthus flowers.

She had been made into a truly beautiful creature; but then again, she had been trained since birth to fill this role. Her tutors ad drummed it into her, from the second she was born that she must be the most beautiful- "be beautiful without and intelligent within."

It had been drummed into her that King Zhi Neng would also prize her mind; her talent for music, dance and singing. Her expertise in calligraphy and painting.

Hadn't that been why she had been named Bao Bei? To be an ultimate treasure. Except once she had been naive to think that SHE was the treasure- her personality and presence, not just a treasure for her worth to others.  
But now; at the age of 13, with a wedding in another room and an elderly soon-to-be husband, she understood the true meaning of her worth.

But she wouldn't leave, or couldn't leave. How can you escape when you have no idea where you're going? How can you escape when it would mean a glorious war of thousands? But mostly because she had been trained since birth to suppress what she wanted, and taught that her own feelings were selfish. Even though this was to be a forced marriage, she still couldn't escape her duty as an Avatar of peace.

An Avatar as a wife must be the ultimate prize.

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MEANING:

Bao bei: 1. Highly valued object; or person who is much loved or valued; treasure;  
2. Kind of gambling tool in ancient time;  
3. Cowries, as money in the ancient times;

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